Son of the Woodsman (Boy x Boy)

Into the Wood

I am not wealthy. I am not tall or dashingly handsome. I am not impressive or well liked. I am not in love with a woman or the pride of my parents. I am not one of many or living in a large house or born of a well off family.

I find it is always easier for me to know what I am when I think of what I am not. And from there the things that I am come forward easily.

I am small and insignificant. I am an only child and a disappointment. I am the poor son of a woodsman who is mocked and gossiped about in town.

I smiled and nodded. Yes, that seemed a comprehensive list.

My mother walked past me and I caught sight of her frown. "Lazy," I heard her murmur under her breath as she always did. Not that it was particularly insulting any longer.

"Rae, would you please take a basket and go find some of the oaky mushrooms by the stream?" she asked in the tight, too-pleasant tone that signaled her frustration.

I stood and set my carving down on the table. "Of course, mother," I chimed, being pleasant. I might as well ease her frustration. Perhaps I could be less of a disappointment if I was pleasant.

I walked out of the house, slipping my small feet into my boots and grabbing the basket by the back door. I swung it along with my arms as I crunched leaves under my feet, listening to the sounds around me instead of thinking of my childless parents. The poor people had been handed an unfair lot. miscarriage after miscarriage, and when the good Lord had finally blessed them with a child, it was neither the strapping son nor the amiable daughter they had wished for, but rather an unfit, pathetic, disappointing blend of the two. But perhaps, they hoped, just perhaps their child could be a scholar. it would be difficult, but they had many friends who knew their despairing situation. Perhaps together they could see to it that their son would be able to care for them later in life. But their hopes were again met with disappointment, as I was no genius. I have mastered writing and reading and basic math, but I am not cut out for Latin learning or language speaking.

Birds gathered in the treetops, unafraid of my disappointing physique. I am not cut out for wielding my father's ax, either. I made a meager living off my carving, and worked in the trading post as an apprentice most days, but I was fast on my way to becoming thrust from my parents' house and into the woods without a name. they would have done it long ago if their good Lord had seen to bless them with a second child. Even an ugly daughter would have been better than their unskilled weakling son who refused to marry.

Leaves crunched under my leather boots as I picked my way through the forest I knew, heading toward the stream where I could find a number of things my mother would appreciate. I kneeled as I saw the little flowers that marked the tops of wild onions, digging up the small bulbs before carrying on. If only this could be my profession: knowing the forest. I knew everything about the acres of land that surrounded our homestead. I knew the animals that wandered like unseen ghosts, I knew the disembodied voices of the smallest birds that hid in the trees, I knew the wood that grew and the places where water seasonally carved ruts in the forest floor, I knew what berries grew by which pond or thicket, I knew every winding trail my feet had taken. This was my forest.

I made it to the stream that harbored a fallen stand of oak trees. Mushrooms swarmed the decaying fibers, helping to put the poor thing to rest, letting it melt gracefully into the earth that bore the giant for so long. I patted my hand against the remaining patch of bark, then began my gathering. I didn't stop until I had pulled enough for the stew my mother was bound to make for dinner. I stood, then kneeled by the stream, gently washing each one and replacing them in the basket.

When that was done I stood and surveyed the landscape. The stream was in full force in the late spring, blossoms falling from cherry trees and crowding the waters with pink flowers. Farther up, though, just at the edge of how far I could see in the dense wood, was a plum tree. Plums...? Not common for this part of the forest. I had never seen a plum tree around here. The plums would make a nice pacifying gift for my mother, though.